#as I do all of ssalballoons art!!!

[micropoe10]

𝐀 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭🏵

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐧

Before Tav and Tadpoles, there was just a man, his goddess, and the desire to serve her no matter the cost. Gale Dekarios was her chosen, her pupil, her lover. But what was she to him?

A goddess bound by duty, a woman haunted by her past, and the man who taught her to love again.

I was inspired to lore dive into the goddess Mystra after seeing this gorgeous piece of art by the wonderfully talented @ssalballoon 🏵

I was determined to learn as much as I could about the goddess of magic and weave a story of a time before she became the most hated diety in all of Faerun.

Edited by the amazing @editing-by-night thank you for everything! And for putting up with my grammar and my questions. 🏵

And to @brabblesblog without you, this story would still be in limbo! Thank you for holding my hand and gently pushing me through 🏵

The weave crackled and vibrated, its amethyst hues now tinged azure. Small radiant sparks lept from her fingertips as Mystra quickly retracted her hand. The energy that permeated the air sizzled. This was new magic, it was spectacular, brilliant, and messy. It fascinated and terrified her. The last time that she felt new magic, Netheril was falling from the heavens and her essence was sundered, leaving her old life behind. She shook her hands free of the new magic’s sensation. It was a cold, distant feeling as she pressed her thumbs to the pads of her other fingers. Her pensive gaze was locked on her fingers; the lingering pinprick sensation weighed heavily within them. 

She took a deep, calming breath, stretching her fingers before her as she called upon the weave again. She opened clouded eyes as vibrant swirls of amethyst and lavender flowed around her. The winds picked up, causing wisteria petals to fall from the trees above, cascading down upon her like a healing rain, cleansing her of the passionate thoughts that flowed through her mind. She could feel her concentration slipping as images of the night before came into view in a sultry haze. 

Tender lips trailed down her back, as page-worn hands gripped her hips pulling her to him. Their bodies entwined, wrapped in mulled-wine-colored satin and stardust. Two touch-starved souls consummating their love amongst the expanse of stars in the skies of Elysium exchanged hungry, breathless kisses.

Mystra gasped, her eyes flying open. Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty and there was a delicious slick heat pooling between her thighs that she couldn’t ignore. She noticed the weave no longer held its violet shades but had taken on the tranquil blues once again.

“Damnit!” She cursed. With an aggressive swipe of her hand, the weave dissipated into a fine mist. She stood there in the courtyard, covering her face. Her fingers softly kneaded away the tension in her forehead as she sighed in frustration.

“What are you doing, Mystra?” She questioned herself, or was it her sanity? With scarlet cheeks, she continued with the personal interrogation. “You told yourself, you promised Kelemvor that you wouldn’t do this again,” she groaned. “It’s as if you didn’t learn from the first time.” If only Kelemvor could see her now, would the lord of death be displeased by her actions? Her mind twisted to that hazy day they had shared in the gardens of Dweomerheart - her home.

On the outermost part of Eronia lay the glittering city of Dweomerheart, the opulent seat of knowledge and devotion to spellcraft, and the home of Faerun’s deities of magic. Set high into the rugged mountain terrain the city looked out upon the borders of the astral sea and the vast expanse of Elysium.

It was a day like any other as the goddess of magic walked the ivy-laden cloister of the Akademia. She stopped within the white granite courtyard to admire the bowing branches of the world tree that dared intrude upon her realm.

Mystra stood, arm outstretched, grasping a crystalline branch and wondering what world she held in her palm. What universe could be destroyed with a snap of her fingers or a flick of her wrist? She had been tasked to preserve magic and to preserve life alongside it, but mortal life was fickle and fleeting and she would only be helping it along.

The thought brought her more joy than it should and it was only the sound of quickening footsteps from behind her that broke her out of her rumination. She let the fragile branch slip from her fingertips to see one of her attendants approach her.

“My lady, the Lord of Death waits for you in the courtyard.” With that, they took quick leave and she retreated down the steps to greet her guest.

“I’m always pleasantly pleased when the goddess of magic herself deigns to permit me an audience. All the more surprised when I’m welcomed into your domain, my lady.” With a curt nod, Kelemvor bowed before her.

“There is no need to be so formal Kelemvor, we’re old friends are we not? Besides, I've called you here for a more personal matter entirely.” Mystra said, holding her hands in front of her. Her fingers found purchase, clasping onto the sleeves of her dress.

“That you should call me here for guidance and counsel. Your message sounded most urgent. I am truly honored. But do you not have others around you who may better understand whatever it is that troubles you?” His question rang true, she did have others whom she could confide in, but none that would give her an honest answer without fear of angering her. No, she didn't want answers that were pleasing to her, she wanted a solid answer even if she objected to it. Which she most likely would.

“I’ve taken upon myself another chosen.” She didn't miss a beat as she got straight to the point. She did not meet his gaze at first, her eyes downcast. 

“Oh? Do you not still have that aging wizard doing your bidding?” He chuckled from under his hooded cloak, confused, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Who, Elminster? Well… well, of course, he is the most loyal of any chosen I’ve had. But I am the puppeteer to his marionette and if I cut the strings before I have someone new all I’ll have is a pile of old bones not even worth reanimation.” She said almost incredulously, waving a hand around like she was controlling the imaginary strings of an obedient puppet.

“Your chosen, Mystra…” Kelemvor wandered around the courtyard contemplating his words carefully, pausing to pour a glass of ambrosia wine. “With your presence, the weave needs not another chosen to hold the balance. I don't want to see you hurt again.” Kelemvor’s tone shifted, his tattered robes dragged against the stone walkway as he continued to move about the gardens.

“My chosen are not your concern, nor is the weave. The individuals that I choose are there to uphold balance within the weave. Their power is astronomical, their knowledge far superseding scholars.”

“And your chosen… this time?” He sat in a chair opposite where she was standing.

She eased at his question, even taking a seat across from him. “Gale..Dekarios of Waterdeep. He shows extraordinary power and has had an understanding of the weave from an early age, Kelem! Elminster found him when he was but eight, Eight! He’s older now. Easier to mold..to teach.” she sighed, pressing a hand to her abdomen to calm her nerves

“You mean that it’ll be easier to convince him to bed his goddess without rhyme or reason?” Kelemvor prodded.

“Is that really what you think I do? I’m not some common prostitute, I don’t whore out my magic. What happened then won’t hap…”

“I don’t want you to make the same mistake Mystra, what happened with Karsus was preventable. But you thought you could change him, mold him. You even bedded him once, didn't you? He was only ever in love with your power, and…” Mystra’s voice cut him off.

“You tread on dangerous ground Kelemvor!” The wind whipped through the buildings, and trees creaked as her face hardened. Her fingers dug into her palms. The air was thick with the weave’s choking grasp. “What happened with him was an oversight. I was foolish, I’ll admit it, but none of us were prepared and…”

“You,” Kelemvor interjected swiftly.

“What?” Mystra said, taken aback. The winds calmed.

“You weren’t prepared for him. You were dead Mystra. The weave was in disarray, the crown gone.” Mystra shook her head, her lips pursed with a look of pain and malice, but he continued. “You opened yourself up, gave yourself freely to a man you thought you could change, one you could trust. One of your ‘chosen’’. The balance of Elysium is still fragile even after all these years…and the scales are not in your favor. You need to tread carefully.” 

Kelemvor leaned across the table to lift her chin to stare into the iris eyes of one that had seen so much of the world. She leaned into him, her lips mere inches from his. “All mortals are the same, Mystra, you can’t change them. They are ambitious, greedy creatures. For as long as we’ve known each other, mortal and god alike have craved your power the most. I’m afraid, dear friend, that it is you who are the puppet. And if you’re not careful, someone will cut your strings, and that might be all it takes.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel his icy touch cooling her flesh where his hand rested upon her cheek. “You’re wrong Kelem. I’ve watched him grow, his grasp on magic far supersedes any of the others that have pledged themselves to my service. Gale Dekarios is nothing like Karsus and I’ll prove it. He WILL be my next chosen.” She stood and pushed away from the table then past her old friend, a look of wilful defiance in her eyes as she batted away his hand.

“And what if you’re wrong, about the Dekarios boy?” He asked calmly, turning to look at her. Mystra froze, her fists clenching. “He’s just a man, a mortal, they make mistakes almost as much as we do.”

“I won’t make the same mistake a second time Kelem. He shows promise, I’ll do better. I won’t fall for him. I can’t afford more setbacks; I have too many enemies on my heel.  But if you need reassurance, if he fails me…I’ll find some way to kill him myself.” Mystra walked out of the garden, leaving Kelemvore to sip his drink in silence.

“Good morning,” Gale whispered, scratching at the back of his messy head and sliding his fingers through his chestnut locks. His hand settled on the back of his neck and he tilted his head to look at her from across the small courtyard. His words dragged her out of the memory with a heavy heart and an exhausted smile. 

“Good morning Gale,” she purred, her back still to him as she quickly wiped a rogue tear from her cheek. 

Gale ran the back of his fingers up her arm as he stood behind her on the balcony. Her fingers lay elegantly splayed out on the granite balustrade, as if ready to conduct an orchestral symphony betwixt the weave and stars. He felt her body quiver as she exhaled softly between parted lips. He leaned in closer, his hand sliding down, slowly dragging the strap of her gossamer silk dress off her shoulder. His nose tickled the outer shell of her ear and he felt her heat radiate there. Hot and steady breath ghosted her skin as he dragged his tongue fervently against the crook of her neck, kissing her tender flesh. 

Her eyes fluttered closed. Behind them, she could see streaks of iridescent violet and lustrous hues of amethyst. Her breath quickened, releasing an enraptured moan.

“Stop!” she exclaimed, stifling the moan almost as quickly as it escaped her. She pulled away from him, rolling her shoulders back and taking a deep breath to calm herself. “You’ve grown too bold, Gale.” Her words were filled with a sad longing as she spoke to him from over her shoulder.

“If I took too many liberties, I apologize. It’s just that after last night I thought...well, I assumed this would be fine.” Gale spoke softly and with a wry smile, He stepped toward her as she turned to face him.

“You think I don’t long to feel your hands upon me? To breathe in the sickeningly intoxicating smell of mahogany and parchment from your skin?” Her breath quivered, her heart raced and her chest heaved as he looked up at her with the same desire that had been present last night.

“Mystra...”

“I would be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it, Gale, but it never should have happened. I can’t do this again!  I made a promise I wouldn’t do it aga…” The panic set in and her composure slipped its almost near unbreakable defenses. Gale gently took her face in his hands and she slipped her hands between them, pressing them against his chest.

“Mystra..breathe.” Small petals fell around them as he thumbed away the tears from the corners of her eyes. He pulled a petal from the braided crown on top of her head. “You know wisteria symbolizes long life and even love.” He looked at her as she scoffed.

“Love…you think that’s easier for me because I’m a goddess? Like I’m given a choice? My first and only love will ALWAYs be the weave, it has to be! What we did last night was not love. Lust, desire even, I'll grant you that much, but not love. The sooner you learn the difference, the better off we’ll both be. Don’t disappoint me, Gale.”

Tag List: @brabblesblog @capraqueen @kasumitanart @tallymonster @ssalballoon @troutsoup @tragedybunny @astarioffsimpmain @nightmarecait @bunnidarling @iizuumi @acystreia

If anyone else wants to be tagged please let me know!! I will figure out how to get this up on Ao3 soon I swear!! Yes, I also took some lore liberties and changed a few minor things. TWs to be added once I figure out what they will be.